At The End Of All Things
by James-Padfoot
Summary: Arthur's thoughts in his last moments, all summed into two words that says little but means much. [Spoilers: 5.13]
1. The Start: The Truth

**Summary:** Arthur's thoughts in his last moments, all summed into two words that says little but means much.

**A/N:** I've never written for Merlin before, nor do I consider myself a shipper or devout follower, but this story simply wouldn't allow me to focus and so it must be written. If you like/disliked it, do leave a short comment (or a long one, I won't complain!) and I would be grateful.

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The truth was, the moment Merlin had admitted to his accounts of sorcery, Arthur had known without a shadow of doubt that he would die by the time the week was over. Arthur had known then, that no amount of magic would save him, not even the love of his most loyal friend.

He'd asked Merlin to leave, couldn't look at him, because it was all too much. It wasn't the fact that Merlin had lied – though of course Arthur was hurt by it, but he could at least understand _that_ – no, it was the fact that Arthur literally owed Merlin his life many times over and not once had the man demanded anything, not even respect. More than the pain of a cursed blade travelling to his heart, was the pain of overbearing guilt. He had so much to repay the man for and couldn't possibly in a lifetime, never mind a week.

"Sire," Gauis called, drawing Arthur's attention outwards to the frail physician. It was almost ironic how ancient Gauis was, and yet, he had outlived Uther Pendragon, and now, his son.

Gauis said no more before attending to Arthur's bandages, cleaning them with practiced ease. He frowned at something, and retrieved a bottle with a bright blue glow, dabbing some liquid at the wound. It hissed, Arthur winced, but felt no pain.

"To help with the pain," Gauis said, by way of explanation when Arthur opened his mouth to ask.

"Can't you just… pull it out?"

"Mordred's blade was forged by dragon breath, not even Merlin can pull it out without hurting you."

At the mention of Merlin's name, Arthur soured and said no more. Gauis, ever perceptive, gave him a stern look, "All he's done, all he's suffered, he's done it for you."

"I didn't ask him to!"

"You didn't have to. It's long since been his destiny. He _knew_ Mordred was the one who would be the death of you, and yet he still saved the boy, simply because of who he is – of who you are."

"I saved- " Arthur trailed off, because he was suddenly struck with another horrible thought – of all the things he had done, all the victories and triumphs, which exactly, had been his, rightfully earned, and which had been the doings of sorcery? If he died in this instant, was there truly anything to be proud of? Then again, what did the means matter if in the end, Camelot was safe?

"The two of you sire, are like different sides of the same coin," Gauis said softly, catching Arthur's gaze and holding it intently, as if there was something he needed the king to understand. Arthur didn't understand. How could he possibly fathom any of this?

"Gaius, I'm tired." There was far too much to say that he simply couldn't say anymore. For where would be begin, and when would he end?

"Of course, sire." Gaius excused himself, and Arthur wondered, not for the first time since the revelation, if Gaius himself still had magic. He sighed and closed his eyes. There was just too much. How was he supposed to make sense of this? How was he supposed to understand?

"Gaius?"

He opened his eyes to see the physician stopped in his tracks, looking back at the king with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Is magic something you're born with, or do you learn it?"

"Everyone has magic sire, its in the very fabrics of the universe…some people learn to coax it out of them, some will never be able to, but some, like Merlin, and even Morgana, are blessed with unimaginable power from the day they are born."

Arthur smiled, "You're trying to tell me that he's good at something?"

Gaius smiled in return, understanding the goodwill of the king, and replied just as cheekily, "The most powerful warlock to have walked this earth, if you can believe it."

Arthur gave a nod and closed his eyes, dismissing the physician.

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**A/N:** This is chapter 1 out of 2. The subsequent chapter will be posted soon. Please feel free to leave a comment. :) Cheers.


	2. The End: The Art of Dying

**A/N:** This story was inspired by the sadness of Arthur's death, and a reminder, that in the end, he died in the arms of someone who loved him more than anyone else in the world. This is part 2 of 2.

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_ I'm glad to be with you, Samwise Gamgee, here at the end of all things. - Frodo Baggins, The Lord of The Rings_

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The thing about dying was, that you could be certain you were dying, you could expect it, but none of the mental preparation really mattered when death was right upon your door, just a hair breadth away. Arthur was scared though he knew he needn't be – Camelot would be fine, Guinevere was a worthy queen. Perhaps, he was more scared for the man who looked to be tethering on the edge, so desperate to save him, so filled with purpose that it scared Arthur to think what would become of his friend when he died – would Merlin find his next purpose? He was scared of leaving everything he ever knew; regretful he hadn't the time to do more, to be more, sad that he would never have a little Pendragon of his own, curious as to whether Guinevere would marry again and found that he didn't mind if she did though he hoped she would remember him, honour his memory.

He chose not to think of Morgana's death only minutes ago, his sister, dead by his blade, killed by his manservant, his friend, a sorcerer. Still, her death lingered in the peripheral of his mind as Merlin dragged him through the opening in the forest, saying, "We must get to the lake!"

There was desperation in Merlin's voice, and from then on, everything else in Arthur's mind vanished. The hundreds of questions floating in his head seemed no longer important in the face of his final moments on this earth. His next deep breath was full of the stench of blood, of sweat whether his nor Merlin's he could no longer tell, of damp grass and the forest. His senses seemed heightened as if waiting for its flight to lift his soul free from the confines of his broken body. Merlin fell to the ground at that exact moment, bringing him down, and a sharp pain pierced through his chest, causing him to grunt.

"We're without the horses, it's too late," he said, and it shouldn't have surprised him how difficult it was to say those words. "It's too late, it's too..." but Arthur could say no more, it hurt to speak now, it hurt to breathe, everything hurt and so he closed his eyes. However, Merlin's breathing was so labored that Arthur felt, that despite the fact that it was he who was dying, it was Merlin that needed the comfort, and so he said, "It won't matter if we die in here, you saved my life."

Arthur brought his gloved hands to rest on Merlin's who immediately held them, squeezing Arthur's fingers as he breathed out, "I can't… not going to lose you."

"Just, just… just, hold me. " Maybe it was Merlin's magic, or maybe it was simply his friendship, but the warmth Arthur felt was internal, independent from the coldness of his surroundings, of Merlin's sweat and labored breathing or the wetness of his own blood covering his body. "Please." Arthur said, but was robbed of air. It was becoming so much harder to stay awake now, in this warm cocoon he was in. He so very much needed a rest, a little bit of sleep, just a wink, but there was a nagging voice in his head, a one that sounded strangely familiar, telling him not to give in just yet. There was still one more thing left to say. One thing, to hopefully encompass all.

Arthur forced his eyes open wider, hoping it would keep him awake long enough to say, "There's something I want to say."

Merlin was instantaneous, "You are not going to say goodbye."

"No," he said, shaking his head slightly, trying to get the man to listen, "Merlin," he said, looking at his friend in the eye, "everything you've done, I know now. For me, for Camelot, for the kingdom you've helped me built," but Merlin was already shaking his head, saying, "you'd have done it without me," and Arthur smiled slightly, because there was Merlin as usual, not taking the credit so Arthur said "Maybe," though both knew it wasn't true. The fact was, even without magic, Merlin had helped him become into a real man, worthy of being a king, rather than the bully of a princely prat he'd been.

Still he needed to make Merlin see, make him understand, so he continued even though it felt like his lungs were on fire with every passing breath, "I want to say," he took another deep breath and it was torture, paying attention to Merlin's worried face was becoming impossible as his eyes glassed over in pain, "something I've never said before," because this time, it meant everything, everything, and he put in every bit of energy he had to turn his head to look at Merlin completely, in the eye, begging him to forgive him and understand the words, "thank you."

And that really, at the end of all things, was enough. It felt like a great big weight had been lifted of him, and despite feeling as though it was his last breath earlier, he felt energized, lifting his hand to Merlin's shoulder. He felt good, like he could float, and then realized he was.

It was like he was there, but he wasn't, and then Merlin's voice cracked through the calm fog with a loud yelling of his name that jarred him into his body – because he knew then he'd died – and saw Merlin looking down at him, but then it was gone again in the next moment.

Arthur Pendragon was dead.

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A/N: It's now out of my system and I can focus once more. This is the end of this little ficlet, I hope you enjoyed it. Please do leave a review, I'd be ever so grateful! Thanks!

(P/S - Good luck with all the post-show feels.)


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